


Crown of Thorns

by Hopesvessel



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Gen, Human!strife, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, fallen angel/vampire!parv, implied past strife/nano/rythian, outright manipulation of emotions, the dubcon is in later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-10 17:40:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4401212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopesvessel/pseuds/Hopesvessel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>medieval fantasy au, inspired by tamora pirece's Dark Angel and  Marissa de la cruz's blue blood novels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Announcement

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is pm inspired by tamora pierce's dark angel books and Marissa de la cruz's blue blood novels. also it self indulgant nonsense.

There was once a village over on a river with fields as far as the eye could see. It was home to many knights and farmers, and nearby a mountain spiraled with rock outcrops and decorated with mine entrances stood as a looming reminder of the village's dark secret. Of course anyone who passed though the town would only meet cheerful villagers, all with haunted eyes, and the dark unspoken terrible truths that hung around the townspeople like flies on a corpse. Many worked sun up to sun down, the skilled craftsmen and women, capable of making beautiful goods, and the fields ripe with wheat and barley, the livestock fat and healthy. 

The villages rather good luck was a gift from the blood demon of the sky whom in order to placate, they offered a youth every 16 years; male or female. the demon wasn’t picky about who.

Although it was supposed to be an honor, most viewed it as a death sentence. All youth who lived in the village from sixteen to twenty years of age was put into a lottery and one name was chosen at random. The chosen child was to have a feast and a ceremony then left upon a rocky outcropping to be taken away, never to be seen ever again. 

of course when Will was younger, he had heard every tale and every superstition about the demon. Will didn't believe any of it, he assumed that they were stupid stories told to keep children in line, never mind the fact when he was five years old he had told every person that he was going to kill the demon.

One of the tales he remembered vividly involved the first 'chosen one', and really he used that term loosely, a maiden snatched from her bed after the local priest had angered the demon. He didn't sleep for two days afterward, and worried that he was going to be snatched out of his bed. Of course now that he was older and more mature Will credited his foolishness as being young. Not that he was that old anyhow. 

It was a muggy, much too hot Saturday morning when the lottery was announced. All the villagers had gathered in the town square, when the mayor of the town strode up to the raised platform. Most parents, having been through this a few times gripped each other tightly. 

"In one week, a lottery for being chosen as the Vampyres spouse will be held. The rules are as follows; all youth from the ages of 16-20 will write their name on a piece of paper and in exchange they will receive a ticket with a number. All those of age must enter, and it is a fair shot for all. This is a great honor, and I look forward to next Saturday!" The mayor crowed proudly at the villagers. Will had a feeling that one of them was going to be slaughtered violently. His uncle gave Will a sideway glance, muttering various curses under his breath. 

"Xeph, I don't have to enter do I?" Will asked. He hoped that he sounded like he wasn't afraid. Nope. William Strife was not a scaredy cat. Nope, not him, not at all.

Will's uncle had been caught off guard by the almost panicked question, and pursing his lips into a thin angry line, answered, "Of course you have to, and it’s tradition. But you have a one in eighty chance of being chosen, so it's nothing to worry about."

Will nods and walks to the table scribbling his name down on the roster. A one in eighty chance of being chosen. He reminded himself taking the ticket with the number 77, written on the paper in crisp black ink. One in eighty chance, there are seventy-nine other people. I probably won't be chosen. Probably. Of course it would be my luck if I were to be chosen. 

Obviously, to say that Will wasn't looking forward to next Saturday was a bit of an understatement.


	2. Chapter 2

 

Over the following week the entire village worked day and night to prepare for the next Saturday: making jewelry, intricate fabrics, and giving the ripest picks of the crop. For the entire week beforehand, all the youth entered in the lottery were to gather in the village square, to prepare for the wedding feast and ceremony that would come later on. Will was helping some of the girls and the local hedge witch’s boy make food and hang up the streamers that would hang over where the marriage ceremony would take place.

Instead of the usual jovial feeling of before a wedding feast and ceremony, the whole thing felt like preparing for a wake and a funeral. The smothering, somber hush that had replaced the village’s usual noisy days, and it made Will feel extremely paranoid. The night before Will’s uncle had ‘helped’ him prepare for the lottery, forcing Will to take a scalding hot bath and scrubbing him like he was a child again.

“If this is idiotic then why are you scrubbing me down like I’m a toddler?” Will had asked in between having buckets of scalding water dumped on his head.

“Shush. You need to look somewhat presentable just in case you were chosen. Just in case all right? Now, don’t give me that look. William, you are now a man. And this is a rite of passage, your mother, bless her soul, and I went through the same lottery. Now hold _still_!”

Will, when he was younger, had quite often asked about his father; a defector from a faraway army, who had enough of violence and bloodshed of war, had run as far away as he possibly could; ending up in the village that Will’s mother had lived all her life, and then settled down to have a calm life in a village. Although according to his uncle, Will’s father _might_ have been a general or commander in said far away army. Other than that no one knew much about who his father was, only that when a neighboring lord, who had seen the village and wanted to take the land for himself, had been part of the local militia and defeated the rival lords army swiftly. But after the dust had settled, the body of his father was nowhere to be found.

The next morning Will woke up to his uncle flicking his nose while screeching at him to get up, it was almost noon for fuck's sake. Reluctantly, Will crawled out of his bed, groggily taking the folded pile of clothes that his uncle had handed to him. A red colored tunic, gray linen pants, and a pendant. The pendant was some kind of crest; two crossed swords bound together with thorned vines shaped like a crown. After Will had tugged on his boots, he sluggishly walked outside and was blinded immediately by the sunlight.

 

Although it was 12:15 when he had met up with his uncle, who pushed him towards where the other contestants were, giving Will a stern look and exasperated sigh. Will pushed his way to where he needed to be standing in the slot he was supposed to. _‘I am number 77, please don’t choose 77, don't choose me,’_ Will chanted internally, whilst the mayor gave another long, drawn-out, and extremely boring speech.

“Now on with the Lottery!” the mayor exclaimed happily, sticking his fat hand into the glass bowl, his hand tightened and the entire crowd held its breath. The mayor seemed to be making a big deal, rummaging his hand around in the bowl. _‘Hurry up and get on with it!_ ’ Will angrily thought, _‘Just gets this fucking thing over with so we can go home.’_

Will looked up towards the mountain that loomed over his town, and it reminded him of the conversation he had had with Kirin, the mayor's son, earlier that week:

 

_“The whole lottery is rigged.” Kirin’s cool and collected tone of voice had jarred Will out of his daydreams._

_“What.” Had been Will’s eloquent response._

_“_ Well it's _true,’ Kirin’s voice dropped in volume to a hushed whisper, ‘my father said so, and he’s the mayor,_ sooo _it must be true yeah?”_

_“That’s a bunch of crap; you and I both know that.’ Will stated in a matter-of-fact voice, mostly to calm his nerves ‘That’s just a bunch of made up stuff old men_ say _in taverns._ Or something _out of Lying’s mouth.” The last bit had taken on a **bit** of an accusatory tone._

_Kirin shrugged dismissively about the last bit and had simply answered “But what if it is actually true?”_ The bitterness in Kirin’s voice had, for one of the rare times, shocked Will into speechlessness.

 

Seeing a vulture fly overhead jarred Will into the reality, that one of them was **never** going back to their house, **never** going to _work_ another hard day in their life, ** _that they had been basically given a death sentence_**.

 

Will felt time slow down as the mayor withdrew his hand from the bowl. The mayor's sounded like it was underwater, distorted and muted, “And our lucky winner is: Number 77! William Strife!”

**Author's Note:**

> special thanks to Momphos for listening to me come up with this bs.


End file.
